


Why Sam Hunts

by GreyFalcon



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-26
Updated: 2013-01-26
Packaged: 2017-11-26 22:35:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/655117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreyFalcon/pseuds/GreyFalcon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam tries to come up with more reasons for hunting.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	Why Sam Hunts

**Author's Note:**

> As usual, Supernatural and its characters are owned by Ericke Kripke.

WHY SAM HUNTS

Alone in the latest motel room, Sam closed the tab on the local history as he finished the research on their next hunt. Sighing, he perused the silent room. Brown walls, brown beat-up furniture, beige coverings, the smell of old cigarettes and pine-scented air freshener. It smelled like the interior of an old car.

But there was no TV noise, no bathroom sounds. Dean had pulled his great disappearing act hours ago, leaving as soon as his duffel hit the bed.

He left the motel room overflowing with the emptiness.

Sam kept himself occupied earlier by puttering about the small place. He fixed the fan in the bathroom, as well as the one over the small stove in their kitchenette. After he cleaned the thermostat in the room’s A/C unit, the temperature remained comfortably cool. He did everything he could, and the lonely sensation still lingered.

Sam sighed. 'I have nothing to do. Dean’s out, soaking up the nearest bar, or cuddling up to the prettiest girl there. Maybe both.'

'Or he could be off with his new bff Benny.' Sam’s mouth twisted into a straight angry line. 'Sure, go off with your vampire blood brother, Dean, since he’s more of a brother than I’ve ever been.'

'Dick.'

Glancing back to the laptop screen, Sam closed the browser and opened a document. He labeled it WHY I HUNT. He didn’t have to think about the first four lines:

Saving people.

Hunting things.

The family business.

Dean.

After that he drew a blank. His fingers fluttered over the keyboard. 'Another reason to hunt … another reason to hunt … is there one?'

'Guess not.'

Sam then perused the tiny list. 'So … saving people. Do I hunt to save people? That’s probably the best part of the whole stinking situation. I love being able to help people. After my massive screw-up of letting Lucifer loose, I NEED to save as many people as I can.'

He kept that line.

'Hunting things. Whittling down their numbers. I hate this part. Knowing that each hunt can be your last, it just sucks. Hours of research, hours of training, hours of practice—it can all be undone by bad luck. Or more than one monster. Or a shift in the wind.'

'Just one little thing goes wrong, and the monsters win. And there’s a corpse on the ground.'

'If I’m lucky, I’m the one bleeding out.'

'Otherwise it’s Dean.' Sam closed his eyes, swallowing hard. 'Dean's died. Repeatedly.'

'I hate hunting.'

That line got erased.

'The family business. Gah!'

Sam couldn’t erase that line fast enough.

'Dean. Of course it was for Dean. I want to stay with Dean, so of course I hunt. The two are inseparable—damnit. I can have Dean, or I can have normal.'

'Let’s face it—I need Dean a whole lot more than he needs me. And he resents it, I can tell. Not that I blame him, who wants that kind of millstone about his neck? A whiny, clingy, needy—failure of a human being.'

'No one should have to put up with that.'

Sam took a deep breath, straightening his back. 'I don’t do that anymore. I’ve grown up. No more whining, no more clinging. No more stupid, helpless, pathetic little brother.'

He sighed as he deflated. 'I can’t really help the needy part, though. I can’t do it without Dean. Sure, I hang on, I survive. But I don’t live.'

Sam quietly moved Dean’s name to the top of the list. 'I’m screwed. Dean doesn’t forgive. He doesn’t forget. He’s going to hold that I didn’t try to get him out of Purgatory forever. I'll never be able to live that down.'

'But I can’t live without him.'

Sam stared sadly at his brother’s name several moments. Then he ran his hands through his long brown hair. 'No more pity party, Sam. Suck it up, get back to work. There’ve got to be more reasons to hunt. I just haven’t…figured out what they are yet. Think…'

'Revenge? No, Yellow-Eyes is dead.'

'Jess? No. Not any more.'

Sam pushed away that old sorrow. 'What did that leave?'

Sam sighed and stood up, stretching the kinks out of his back. He reached down and touched his toes, trying to loosen the taut muscles.

Something slammed into the door hard enough that it flew open, the doorknob and lock jerking loose from the door in the process. Sam dropped to the floor, yanking the gun free from his waistband and aiming at the door.

A man charged in, gun out, eyes wide. He saw Sam on the ground and swung his weapon down.

Sam shot him first; the man jerked forward and collapsed to the ground.

Sam vaulted across the first bed. He ducked between the two beds, watching the door. He got his feet under him, waiting. People were always shocked at how compact he could make himself once he folded his arms and legs in tight. He disappeared behind the rumpled bed, perfectly balanced, one hand flat to the floor, the other holding his gun in a steady grip.

A second man literally jumped into the room, missing the body on the floor and looking for a target. The intruder kept his eyes up, looking for a tall man; he didn’t spot the younger hunter until he was within arms’ reach.

'I don’t have to use the gun.' Sam dropped his weapon and launched himself at the intruder, slamming him against the dresser and TV. He slammed the hand with the gun on the edge of the dresser until the other man dropped it.

A hard fist drove his face sideways. That didn’t stop Sam from grabbing the man’s shoulder and spinning him into the wall again—this time face first into the bathroom doorframe. He released the intruder’s hand and grabbed his head, slamming it against the doorframe again. The man went limp.

Sam let the unconscious man drop. He knelt beside the intruder, checking out the damage. 'Bruises and a concussion, not so bad.' He looked around, spotting the duct tape in his handyman’s toolbox. Snatching it up he applied several layers to the man’s wrists and ankles. Afterward, Sam frisked him, removing another gun and two knives; those he tossed up on the nearest bed.

The other intruder was clearly dead. He wore a green-checkered flannel shirt, some old worn jeans, and well-used work boots. Blood flowed silently from the bullet hole above his heart. Sam checked the body over carefully, removing several knives and adding them to the collection atop the bed. Sam shoved the corpse against the door, wedging it tightly shut.

Standing up, Sam reached for his cell phone and dialed.

“This is Dean. Leave a message.”

“Dean. This is Sam. We got attacked in our room by Hunters. Meet me at your watering hole.”

Once he ended the call, Sam grabbed the nearest duffel and proceeded to pack all his and Dean’s belongings. He wiped their fingerprints from the room. The toilet and bathtub got disinfected. The blankets and sheets were swapped with some from an unoccupied room.

The last thing he grabbed was his laptop. Seeing the document still displayed, Sam typed one more line: Be Predator or Be Prey. Then he saved the document, closed the laptop, and shoved it into its carryall.

Hearing noise from the now-conscious man on the floor, Sam knelt beside him and rolled him over. He retrieved his gun from where it lay and shoved it against the man’s chin. “Who are you,” he growled. “Why are you after us!”

Fear in the man’s eyes gave way to burning anger. “You’re a fuckin’ monster, Sam Winchester,” he spat. “You started the Apocalypse. You did it for the demons—“

“I finished it too!” Sam snarled.

“Doesn’t matter, millions died because of you!”

“I stopped the Apocalypse!” Sam shouted. “I saved billions! Lucifer is never coming back! He is forever sealed in his Cage!”

“You’re still a monster!”

Sam sat back on his heels, breathing deeply, forcing his anger back down to manageable portions. “You’re wrong. And I’m going to prove it to you. I’m going to let you live—knowing that you owe me your life. I had the choice, and I didn’t kill you.” He put the gun back into his waistband, and duct-taped the intruder’s mouth shut. “I’m not even going to call the cops on you. You can get out of this—given time.” His voice got cold. “But if I ever see you again, you’re dead. I see you anywhere, and you’re dead. I even hear of you hunting me or Dean, and you’re dead.”

The man glared; Sam stood up, picked up the duffels, and left the room. The dead body relaxed against the door, shutting it behind him.

THE END


End file.
